


Ritual

by MUSEquera



Category: Muse
Genre: Character Hurt, Drama, First Time, Fluff, Friendship/Love, M/M, Porn, Teen Muse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-17
Updated: 2013-05-14
Packaged: 2017-12-11 20:22:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/802831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MUSEquera/pseuds/MUSEquera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt is hurt, Dom takes care of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

We normally walked back to my place together after school, but today I'd had a football game scheduled after class, and for once he'd decided to pass on watching and go for a walk down to the pier instead, saying he'd catch up with me after the game.

I'd had a brief flicker of worry; in winter, the seafront is not the safest place after dark. When night falls, the crowning glory of our picture perfect little seaside town becomes a place you visit at your own risk, the meeting place and business premises for the rough and tough element of the town.  
  
Before the worry had managed to find its way into coherent thought, though, the coach had called for me to get a move on, and he left with a little wave and a smile as I gathered my stuff on my way to the change rooms.

He was sitting on my doorstep when I got home, thin arms clasped tight around painfully skinny shins, his forehead dejectedly slumped on his knees, dark long hair falling like silken curtain around him.

Even before he looked up, I knew that something was not right. I dropped my bag and rushed to him, kneeling down in front of him, my heart in my mouth, hands clutching his legs, asking, "What's wrong?"

That's when he lifted his head to look at me.

Smudges of dirt all along the left side of hoodie and trousers, one of the sleeves torn at the shoulder. A nasty bruise spreading across his right cheekbone. A bleeding and swollen lower lip. A cut to his left eyebrow, blood running down and mixing with the tears falling silently from his eyes...

A blinding rage that someone had hurt him filled me until I thought I was going to explode. I wanted to know who'd done this to him. I wanted to hunt them down and kill them slowly. I wanted...

I took a deep breath. This was neither the time nor the place.

Gently, I unwrapped his arms from their tight grip on his legs. Taking his hands, I pulled him to his feet, leading him to the door, "Come on, let's get you inside, those cuts need seeing to." and he just followed me up the steps like an automaton, his hand limp in mine as I unlocked the door.

By the time I'd gotten him to the bathroom and had him sat on the stool I was starting to panic. He still hadn't said a word, and his eyes, still full of tears, followed me blankly while I rummaged through the vanity looking for the first aid kit. I wished mum were home, she'd know what to do; but she and dad had gone off on one of their weekend 'dates' that I couldn't even think about without shuddering, so I'd have to deal.

I knelt in front of him, craning my neck to look into his downcast eyes. "Are you hurt anywhere else?" I asked, giving myself a mental smack for not thinking of asking before I'd moved him.

He continued to look at me blankly for a moment, but then his hands moved slowly to lift the hem of his hoodie and school shirt, and I sank back on my heels, hands flying to my mouth with a sharp intake of breath at the sight of dark bruises on the pale skin.

My eyes filling with tears, I instinctively reached a shaking hand to touch them, and he flinched, curling into himself and shrinking back against the wall, fear in his eyes. "I'm sorry." I mouthed, unable to speak, my hand still outstretched between us, dying inside that whatever had happened to him had led him to think that I would ever hurt him.

"I'm sorry," I repeated, finding my voice, "please, I'm not going to hurt you." He looked up at me uncertainly, and I tried to make myself sound steady and calm as I went on, "I just want to have a proper look, check that nothing is broken. I'll be really, really careful, I promise. Take them things off for me?"

Somehow I must have succeeded in projecting calm, although I was anything but, and got through to him. He nodded slightly and, uncoiling slowly, took hoodie and shirt off, flinching as he stretched to pull them over his head.

I closed my eyes briefly in pained shock. The brief glimpse I'd had before had not prepared me for the mass of bruises that covered the right side of his ribcage, some of them clearly distinguishable as bootprints. He'd been kicked while he was down.

I saw red. I could feel my nostrils flaring as I ground my teeth together and my fists balled tightly at my sides. I must have looked a sight, because he wrapped his arms around himself defensively. Telling myself sharply to snap out of it, I forced myself to relax and take a couple of deep breaths. Once I had myself back under control, I reached to touch his arm, saying, "Put your arms up, let me see."

After a moment's hesitation, he did as I asked, and I put my hands ever so carefully on his sides. Despite my efforts to be gentle, he winced as my left hand touched the bruises. "Ok," I said, remembering coach's first aid lessons, "take a deep breath for me while I hold your ribs. Tell me if it hurts. You know, not bruise pain, deep pain."

He took a shaky shallow breath and held it, looking at me for approval. "Does it hurt?" I asked and, when he shook his head, I said, encouragingly, "Another one, deeper this time." With an apprehensive look, he tried again, this time his ribcage filling to capacity while I watched his expression carefully.

"Ok, you can let go now." I said, relieved that there seemed to be no broken ribs or punctured lungs, and he sighed the breath out as he slumped back against the wall. "Right, your ribs feel ok." I said making myself smile at him, "I'll just put some arnica ointment on them, and on that bruise on your face. But first..." I turned around to get the pack of gauze and the antiseptic wash, "let me just deal with the cuts, yeah?”

Another nod, so I quickly poured some antiseptic on the gauze and started dabbing gently at lip and eyebrow to get rid of the worst of the dried blood so I could see the damage. The cut on his eyebrow was just a nick, but it had bled like a motherfucker, so I took my time removing the rivulets of blood and tears off his face.

The lip, though... Ugh. By this time it had swollen to about three times its normal size, and it had a nasty split on it that I was sure would leave quite a scar. Knowing how sore it must be, I was extra careful with it, wincing every time he hissed in pain at my ministrations, and muttering, "Sorry, sorry, sorry..." like a mantra.

Blessing mum for her well stocked first aid kit, I fished out some steristrips and, holding the cut closed, put them in place to keep it that way. "There," I said, sitting back on my heels to check my handiwork, "that looks a bit better, but I think that one will scar. You should go see Dr Wilkes on Monday to have it checked out."

He just shrugged his shoulders, so I picked up the jar of ointment and started smearing it on his cheekbone, muttering to myself, "This should help." He sighed in relief as the cool ointment went on, "That feels nice." For the first time since I'd seen him slumped on the step, I smiled a genuine smile up at him, "Yeah?" He nodded, "Yeah."

"Good, let me put some of it on your ribs, then. Come on, arm up. I'll try not to tickle you." He actually smiled at that as he lifted his arm; just a shadow of his normally bright smile, but at that point I was thankful for the slightest hint of normality from him.

I don't know what came over me then but, as I was about to get on with the business of slathering ointment on his skin, I just leant in and gently brushed my lips over the now fully purpled bruises. We both froze for a few heartbeats, neither of us moving a muscle. I looked up at him to find him, arm still up in the air, looking down at me with huge eyes.

Before I could apologise for my spazzy behaviour, he lowered his arm to rest on my shoulder and, eyes filling with tears again, said quietly, "Thank you." I just looked at him for a moment, trying to make my mouth work, and finally managed, "What for?" He shook his head, saying, "For looking after me." and then, almost to himself, "For caring."

I wasn't sure that last bit was meant for me, so I pretended I hadn't heard it, choosing to address the first part of his answer. "Ok, I'd better finish what I've started, then." I said briskly, going on as I got busy with the ointment, "I'll get you sorted with this, and then you can get in bed and rest for a bit, and I'll go make us a cuppa, yeah?" Nod.

I sighed in relief. Normally he didn't take well to being bossed around, but I guess the situation didn't really count as 'normal'. "There you go, all done. Just give me a minute while I clean up in here." I finally said, closing the jar and smiling at him before gathering all the rubbish to put in the bin, and stowing away the first aid supplies.

Everything tidied up and hands washed free of ointment, I offered him my hand, "Let's go, I'll find you some clean stuff to wear to bed." He allowed me to pull him up and walk him back to my bedroom where, finally, thank christ, he behaved somewhere close to normal and crawled across the bed to sit in his usual cross-legged perch in the middle, watching me while I went to the dresser in search of a spare set of PJ pants and tee for him.

"Right, there you go." I said, placing the clean clothes in front of him, "I could make us some sandwiches to go with the tea, I'm starving. You hungry?" Shrug from him. Sigh from me. "Tell you what, I'll just make sandwiches for both of us anyway, and you can eat if you're hungry, yeah?" Again with the nodding, "Ok, then, back in a tick."

I went down to the kitchen and busied myself with making tea and sandwiches, trying very hard not to think about the bruises on his body or the pain in his eyes and not doing a particularly good job of it. Every now and then I would forget not to think, and I'd clench the butter knife in my hand, thinking of all the things I would do to the fuckers who'd beaten him up if I ever found out who they were. In the end, I managed a couple of rounds of sandwiches that weren't mangled by the knife clenching, and put together a tea tray to take upstairs.

By the time I got back to my bedroom, he was curled up under the covers, and I could hear the unmistakeable sound of ugly crying. I fairly flew across the room and, setting the tea things on the bedside table, knelt by the side of the bed, unsure of how to deal with this. I placed a tentative hand on the bundled duvet, willing it to radiate comfort and support, but it just lay there, useless, while he cried.

Do something, I urged myself, but I had no idea what. In the end, I could not bear to just kneel there listening to the heartwrenching sobs so, knowing his need for physical closeness, I just got into bed with him, clothes be damned. At least I could give him that comfort.

He looked up when he felt the bed dip, face red and blotchy, his hands reaching for me. "Hold me. Please? Just for a little while." he asked, eyes swollen and bright with tears, and my heart broke into a million pieces. Without even stopping to think, I gathered him into my arms, being extra careful not to hurt his side, and he clung to me as he cried, his tears soaking into a damp patch on the front of my jumper.

I settled for stroking his hair while I held him, the way mum used to do for me when I was little, hoping I was doing it right. It must have worked, because gradually the sobs got less desperate, and eventually he loosened the death grip he had on me and sank loosely against me, hiccuping weakly against my chest.

With a gentle squeeze, I pulled away a little to check on him, but his face was still buried against my jumper. I hooked a finger under his chin to try to lift his head up, but he burrowed deeper, shaking his head. "Hey," I said softly, going back to stroking his hair, "it's ok, its just me. Come on, don't hide from me."

After a few false starts, he did look at me. God, he looked an absolute fright. The bruise had spread to cover half his cheek; his nose looked like a misshapen tomato, it was so red; his face was smeared with tears and snot and slobber, eyes swollen almost shut with crying; his poor, poor lip...

I had to. I just had to.

Brushing long hair away, I cupped his face in my hands and, gently, heart fluttering in my chest, kissed his forehead and his eyelids and the tip of his nose and, finally, feather light, his lips, salty with tears and blood, and probably snot and slobber too, but I didn't even care.

And he let me, sighing as I kissed him, the last of the tension draining from his body as he did. "It's going to be ok," I said, resting my forehead against his, swelling with an insane need to protect him, "you're going to be ok. I promise."

And I didn't even think it strange that I had just kissed my best mate, or that I was holding him to me like he was something precious, or that he was looking at me as if the sun shone out of my arse and smiling like he meant it for the first time in the whole miserable evening, fat lip and all.

But first things first. I reached blindly behind me, searching for the box of tissues on the bedside table with my hand. With a triumphant 'Ha!' I finally connected with it, and brought it across, setting it on my chest. "Here, you'd better blow your nose, although by the looks of it most of it is already on my jumper." I said, pulling at the wet patch. He giggled. He actually giggled, and I felt as if I'd won the fucking lottery, I was so happy to hear that idiotic sound, punctuated as it was by 'OWs' because, you know, fat lip and all.

He pushed back on my chest to sit cross legged in the middle of the bed again, and blew his nose with gusto until he was surrounded by a veritable sea of crumpled, soggy tissues, while I watched the snotfest braced on my elbows with an idiotic smile on my face, as if it were the most fascinating thing in the whole world.

"Better?" I asked with a grin, sitting up against the headboard and, nodding, he crawled back across the bed to sit snuggled against me, his hand fisted in my snotty, slobbery jumper, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world to let my arm settle across his shoulders to pull him closer, my free hand playing with the ratty ends of his hair.

"Hungry?" I asked after a while, and he nodded, "A little." so I pulled the tray onto the bed, sat him up a little, and fed him bits of my sandwich and gave him sips of tea out of my mug until, with a whispered, "I'm full." he sank back into my arms, and I juggled the tray one-handed back onto the bedside table.

After a few minutes of companionable silence, I braced myself to ask the question, "What happened?" The moment the words were out of my mouth he tensed, and I berated myself for an insensitive moron. I thought he wouldn't answer but, after a few moments, he wriggled closer to me and started talking, his voice small and halting.

"I was walking across the Den on my way back here from the pier, when two blokes grabbed me." he started, fingers busy worrying at the neck of my jumper, "I think they thought I was a girl, because one of them made a grab for my chest." He looked up at me as though he thought I might laugh, but laughter was the last thing on my mind at the moment.

I nodded at him to go on. "I shouted at them to let me go." he continued, "They realised I was a guy then, but they wouldn't let me go. They said..."

He stopped again, his hand clutching and unclutching convulsively on my jumper, and I just held him, going back to stroking his hair, giving him time. With an audible swallow, he wen on, "They said I would do. That... that... I was small and skinny enough, and... and then one of them... held me while the other... went for my belt."

I froze, cold to the core, stock still, not even breathing, as he curled into a tight ball of misery in my arms. No. Nononononononono. Please god no! My stupid brain threw up scenario after frightful scenario behind eyelids squeezed shut and my arms tightened around him fit to squeeze the life out of him.

I was brought back to my senses by his whimper of pain, and I let go of him completely, in shock that I'd hurt him. "Oh, god, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, are you ok?" The moment the words had come out of my mouth I wanted to bang my head against the wall. Of course he's not ok, you fucking cunt, my brain supplied unhelpfully, you probably managed to break one of his ribs. Way to go!

And yet he nodded, clinging to me as if I were a life raft. Gritting my teeth at my own stupidity, I put my arms around him once again, protectively, wishing I could keep him there, safe, for ever.

I didn't want to know any more. I.did.not.want.to.know. But I knew instinctively that he needed to tell the whole story before it became a thing that festered into nightmares, so I forced the words out of my mouth, "They... They... Did they...?"

To my eternal, everlasting relief, he shook his head. Thank you god. I was so relieved I actually felt dizzy. Fighting the need to crush him to me, I buried my face in his hair and just breathed him in, my hands rubbing little circles on his back until we were both breathing easily and he picked up the story again.

"I was scared spitless, but I kept screaming and biting and scratching and kicking." I couldn't help smiling at that, knowing from painful personal experience that despite his frail looks he could be a little spitfire when riled. He must have felt the smile, because he looked up, giving me a confused look. "Sorry. I was thinking of the bite marks and scratches you've left on my skin all these years. You're vicious when you get going." I explained.

Rolling his eyes at me, he settled back down onto my chest, "I think I must have kicked the guy in the nuts, because he went crazy. He started hitting me, and then the one who was holding me let go of me and I went down, and they started kicking me."

Once again, his hand clutched the jumper, and I could hear tears in his voice as he went on, breathing hard, words tumbling out, "I thought they were going to kill me they just kept kicking and kicking and I just curled up into a ball crying begging them to stop and they laughed at me and called me a cowardly little cunt and just kept kicking me and kicking me and kicking me and it hurt so much I couldn't breathe and..."

He stopped then. He just... stopped. He went limp in my arms, and I couldn't feel his breathing. I just sat there holding him, tears running down my face, going, "No no no no no no no no..." thinking he was dead. Thinking that somehow one of the kicks had connected with his head. Thinking that while I was sitting there listening to him, his brain had slowly been bleeding and killing him little by little, 'dead man walking' as they'd called it on the first aid video.

I put a shaking hand to his neck, and I nearly fainted with relief when I felt his pulse, slow but steady, beating under my fingers. He had passed out on me, anxiety attack, I guessed, it wouldn't be the first time, and who could blame him?

His eyes fluttered at my touch, and opened slowly, their blue blurry and dazed as he looked at me. "What happened? Why are you crying?” he asked with a confused little pout, his hand lifting to my face to touch my tears.

I'm afraid I lost it. Completely. I thought I'd been doing so good, handling the situation reasonably well, but the last few minutes had brought me to the end of my tether. The stress and the worry and the pain of the whole thing caught up with me and I reacted like the scared teenager I was.

It wasn't one of my best moments. To my eternal shame, I shook him, not caring that he was hurt, hating him for what he'd put me through, grating at him through clenched teeth, "Don't you EVER do that to me again. You scared the life out of me. I thought you were dead. You hear me you stupid fucker? I thought you were DEAD. DEAD..."

I don't want to remember the unforgivable things I shouted at him through sobs that shook me as much as I was shaking him. Eventually, the desperate sound of my voice jolted me into stopping, and I just sat there, my hands clenched like claws around his skinny arms, panting with shock, while he looked at me with soft wide eyes that held no anger or blame.

With a whispered, "Oh, god, I'm sorry!” I let go of his arms as though they'd burnt me, and my eyes closed in pain and shame at the sight of the red imprints I'd left on his pale skin, knowing that they'd become bruises within the hour. As if he didn't have enough of those already. I fell back against the headboard and started banging my head on the wall in time to an inner chant of 'you fucking cunt'.

A warm hand on my face stopped the banging, followed by a warm body straddling me. "I'm sorry." he said, resting his head on my shoulder, his lips brushing my skin as he spoke, making every single hair on my body stand on end, "I'm sorry I scared you. Please don't be mad at me." I stared down at him in disbelief. How could he even bear to be in the same room with me after the things I'd said to him, after I'd hurt him? And he was apologising to me?

Tentatively, I brought myself to touch his hair, and my heart clenched as he lifted his head. He was looking at me with tears in his eyes again, and I could not bear the thought that I'd put them there. "Please, don't cry," I said miserably, brushing the tears off with my thumbs, "you didn't do anything wrong, and I'm not mad at you, and I didn't mean any of it, and..." My voice broke, but I made myself continue, "And I'm sorry, I..."

I...

I just didn't have the words then to tell him what I didn't quite understand myself; that I felt incomplete when he was not around, that I'd died inside at the sight of the cuts and bruises on his skin, that for those few heartbeats when I'd thought I was holding his dead body I'd wanted to end my own life because I couldn't conceive of going on living without him, that hurting him had shredded my soul into useless bleeding tatters...

I let my hands fall off his face to rest dejectedly on his legs, and banged my head on the wall once more for luck, hoping it would shake my brain into working. "Don't." he said softly, his hand on my face again, "Don't, ok? Stop hurting yourself. Please?"

I turned my head away from his touch, wallowing in guilt, but he wouldn't have any of it. Holding my chin firmly, he turned me back until he had my eyes and, repeating, "Don't!" he tilted my chin up and kissed me. Eyes widening in surprise, I stiffened for a moment, but then his lips were moving softly on mine even as he winced in pain, and instinct took over.

I kissed him back, my eyes brimming with tears at the relief and the wonder and the sheer joy of it, marveling at the effortless way in which our lips moved together, at the velvet touch of his tongue as it slid against mine, at the way my body responded to him as though it already knew him.

Sighing into my mouth, he broke the kiss, pulling back a little to look at me and, despite bruising and cuts and swelling, when I looked back at him I saw only beauty. "Is this ok?" he asked shyly, a blush slowly flushing his unbruised cheek. I nodded, lifting my hand to comb my fingers through his hair to reassure myself that he was real, that this was real. He leant into the caress, eyes fluttering closed with just a hint of a smile and I closed the distance between us, whispering, "It's more than ok." against his lips, meaning it with all my heart.

Before he could respond, he was overtaken by a yawn, one of those cat-like yawns of his, where his mouth opens so wide that his face looks like it's going to split in two, and he yelped as his poor lip was stretched until it bled.

"Ow, ow, ow! Motherfucker!" he swore, falling sideways onto the bed and flailing about, hands clutching at his mouth, nearly braining me in the process. After a few moments, he stopped the flailing about and, considering it safe for me to approach him without damage to life or limb, I hovered over him, asking, "You ok?" He nodded weakly.

Saying, "Let me see." I moved his hands away from his mouth and checked his lip to assess the damage; the cut had bled, but the steristrips had held, thank god. "Yeah, it's good. Just a bit bloody." I said, taking his lip between mine and licking the blood off it, closing my eyes at the salty, coppery taste of it.

"Eeewwww!!" he said, squirming away, "Tell me you didn't just lick the blood off my lip. What are you, a vampire?" I smirked at him, licking my lips for effect, "Maaaybe." I drawled, "And anyway, when I kissed you earlier you were covered in snot, and you didn't have an issue with that." His nose scrunched up, "Dude, that's gross."

I grinned to myself. He was back.

"Yeah, you were pretty gross," I laughed at his predictable pout, "but I didn't mind at the time," I continued, my voice softening, "I was beside myself with worry." He smiled at me then, and pulled me down for another kiss, and he yawned into my mouth mid-kiss.

"Right," I said, "bedtime." and he giggled, "We're already in bed." Rolling my eyes at the random little fuck, I amended my statement, "Ok, smartarse, sleeptime." I got up and pulled him to his feet, "Come on, into the bathroom with you, and mind you brush your teeth." He made doe eyes at me, "Aawww, do I have to? It will sting like a mofo." I shook my head, pointing at the door, "Nice try, buddy, but no cigar. Now git!"

He left with a long-suffering sigh, and I went back to the bed to straighten up the rumpled duvet and get my own tee and PJ bottoms. By the time I was done he was back; walking right up to me, he stood on tiptoes, breathed in my face, and said, "See? Minty." Ruffling his hair, I said, "Good boy." and, before he had time to get in a snarky reply, I turned on my heel and made for the bathroom, giggling quietly to myself.

By the time I was back, he was lying crossways on the bed, skinny feet sticking out from under the duvet, and I had to laugh at the weird little freak's random ways. I got under the covers, rearranging us until he was right way up on the bed, lying on his undamaged side, and neatly tucked against me, his back flush to my chest, my lips brushing his soft skin at the nape of his neck and my arms closing around him as I whispered, "Night."

"Night." he answered sleepily, his arms wrapping around mine and his toes scratching at my PJ clad shins, sealing a bedtime—pardon me, sleeptime—ritual that has remained unchanged for the last twenty years.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

I awoke slowly to pain. A throbbing dull blanket of pain that seemed to be wrapped around my body. Confused, I opened my eyes. Correction—I tried to open my eyes. With only partial success. My right eye stubbornly refused to comply, but my left eye informed me that I wasn't in my bed.

My head felt fuzzy, and I couldn't work out where the hell I was or why my body suddenly hated me. I pushed up on my elbow to have a better look, and immediately regretted it, dropping back down on my back with something that started like a yelp and ended up dying in my throat as a searing pain on my side choked me.  
  
 _Motherfucking OUCH!!_

"Whahwssat?" As I lay there panting, the sleepy mumble issuing from under the duvet solved at least one of the mysteries. I knew where I was now. Carefully, very, very carefully, trying not to move any more muscles than was strictly necessary, I turned my head to look at him. A sliver of hazy grey looked back at me from under the covers; he was nowhere near awake yet. Truth be told, neither was I.

"Hey." I said through lips that felt as though they had recently acquired a saucer-sized plug. The eye blinked at me once, twice, and it flew open, and then he was bursting out from under the duvet to sit up and hover over me, his hand softly stroking the side of my face that didn't throb, asking in a voice still rough with sleep, "Did you just scream? Are you ok?"

_Rough hands. Heavy boots. Fear. Pain. Tears.  
Tender hands. Soft lips. Comfort. Safety. Love._

His touch brought the memories flooding back, and I whimpered, my eyes shutting tight in an effort to fight tears as I relived the nightmare. His thumb glided soothingly over my cheekbone, and I instinctively leant into his hand, rubbing my cheek against it like a cat, the comfort of his touch grounding me against the onslaught, just as it had the night before.

"Hey, talk to me. Are you ok?" he asked again, his voice, warm and concerned, guiding me out of the grip of the returning memories. I squinted up at him and nodded, not wanting him to worry, "Yes, 'm good."

He tsked, "Well, you don't look it. You look like roadkill." I shrugged, and I was reminded that I pretty much was roadkill, my face scrunching up at the pain. "Right!" he said, exasperation now tingeing the concern in his voice, "You're obviously not ok. I'm taking you down to the hospital to get you checked out."

He started to get up, but I grabbed his tee, hissing at the way my muscles spasmed at the sudden movement, and pulled him back down, "No, please," I whined, "I don't want to go to the hospital, it's icky, and they'll make us wait for ages and they'll stick me full of needles." I picked up his hand and put it back against my face, "Please? I'm ok, I really am. I'm just sore. Can we just stay here? Please?"

"Ok," he conceded, sighing, and settled back down, but he wasn't done; wearing his 'don't mess with me' face, he went on, "but you tell me if the pain gets too much, and if I think you're faking it, you'll be on your way to the hospital so fast your head will spin. We clear?” I nodded, giving him my very best earnest face.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever." he chuckled, lying down next to me and gently putting his arms around me, "That was a wasted effort, by the way," he went on with a smile, brushing his lips lightly along my right eyebrow, "you can't make proper doe eyes with a shiner like that." I made a rude noise in my throat at the jibe. Doe eyes my arse.

"Seriously, though," he pulled back to look at me, "how bad are you hurting?" I sighed, giving in, "A bit. I tried to sit up when I woke up, and I just seized up, and it hurt like a mofo. I guess it only hurts bad when I move. The rest of the time it just throbs."

He nodded, his face scrunching up in sympathy, "Yeah, remember when I got a boot in my calf? The next day I was in agony. Bruises are always worse the next day." Suddenly, his face brightened, and he shouted, "Epsom salts!!" Startled by the outburst, I did the flinch-wince routine and stared at him, thinking he'd gone bonkers on me, "What?"

"Epsom salts," he repeated at a normal volume, kissing my forehead and grinning at me, "Sorry. I just remembered, that's what coach said to use when I had the bruised calf: a warm bath with Epsom salts in it. And it worked, too." He beamed at me, really pleased with himself. "What's Epsom salts?" I asked dubiously, "it sounds kinky—hang on," I frowned at him, "are you taking the piss? Isn't that a laxative?"

"Trust you..." he muttered, shaking his head, "Yes, you dork, they are a laxative, but only if you actually take them. When you put them in the bath they help relax your muscles and reduce the inflammation." Making a face at him—which probably looked a lot more hideous than I intended, because he actually flinched—I poked my tongue out at the know-it-all smartarse.

Instead of the expected comeback, fast as lightning, he brought his face closer and touched his tongue to mine briefly before taking it into his mouth to suck gently on it. It was so sudden, so unexpected, so... intimate. I was completely unprepared for the way it made me feel. My eyes rolled all the way back into my skull, molten heat racing through my veins until I couldn't breathe. And suddenly pain was irrelevant.

I arched in his arms and grabbed fistfuls of his hair, my legs tangling with his in an effort to get closer as I kissed him with a fury that surprised us both. He kissed me back then, with the same demanding fierceness but, after a while, he pulled back with a rueful sigh, gently disentangling my fingers from his hair.

I whimpered in protest, but he cupped my undamaged cheek in his hand and looked at me intently, his eyes darkening in concern, "Your lip is bleeding again." I looked blankly at him for a moment, and then I whimpered again, this time with the pain gradually making itself known through the haze of lust and endorphins.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking." he said contritely, his face crumpling in misery when I started to hyperventilate at the insane throbbing in my ribs and the sharp pain from my lip. "I'm ok," I managed through the panting, "just give me a sec." He held me loosely in his arms, making soothing, shushing noises until I relaxed with an exhausted little sigh.

"I'm ok," I said again, curling into him, "I just forgot about the bruises for a bit." Kissing the top of my head, he drawled, "Yeah, that would be my irresistible animal magnetism." My response was automatic. "Knob!" I said, biting him through the fabric of his tee, but I couldn't help the slightly bashful yet self-satisfied smile that spread across my face.

"Right, if you're ok to bite me, you are well enough to get out of bed." he said, mock frowning down at me. "Nooooooo," I begged, wriggling closer and wrapping my arms around him, "a bit longer? It's nice and warm, and it's Saturday!!

"Tell you what," he said with a laugh, "I'll run you a bath, and after you've had a soak, I'll make you breakfast, and then I can get some painkillers into you." My ears perked up at the word 'breakfast'. "Pancakes?" I asked, looking hopefully up at him. He nodded, "With crispy bacon and maple syrup."

I got up to sit on the edge of the bed as fast as my aching muscles allowed. "Come on, then," I said looking back at him, sprawled on the bed watching me with a smirk on his face, "what are you waiting for?” He pushed himself up and came to sit behind me, his legs either side of me, arms around me, and whispered against the back of my neck, "You're so easy!"

"Fuck off!" I said, out of habit, but I let myself lean against him, resting my head back on his shoulder, enjoying the way his lips felt as they roamed the skin of my neck, enjoying the new closeness overlaying the familiar one and merging seamlessly into it. And it did not feel strange, this new dimension; it felt... right, a logical next step in the natural progression of our friendship.

"Come on," he said after a while, with a final peck, "bath." and, letting go off me, he manoeuvred his body around mine and got up, putting his hand out to me, "Lets go!” I muttered "Bossy boots." to myself, but I let him pull me up and lead me towards the bathroom.

"Sit," he said once we got there, pointing at the stool and, once I complied, he got the bath running, splashed some bubble bath stuff in, and squatted down to rummage through the vanity, saying, "I'm pretty sure there was half a pack of Epsom salts left under here somewhere—Yesssss!" He emerged, triumphant, holding a dark blue box, and proceeded to pour a long stream of the salt into the bath.

He turned to me with a smile, "I'll just go make us a cuppa, back in a tick. Keep an eye on the water, don't let the bath run over, yeah?" I nodded, smiling back at him, "Yeah, ok." And off he went. I sat there for a moment, watching the water running into the bath with a silly smile on my face, but soon my bladder decided that, since I was already in the loo, I might as well have a leak.

The deed done, I went over to the basin to wash my hands, and I jumped back in horror as I saw my face in the mirror for the first time since the bashing. I really did look like roadkill. The bruise on the right side of my face was a nasty purple, my cheek and eye all puffy and swollen, and my lower lip looked like a slab of liver, with little drips of fresh blood running down from the cut across it.

Tears of self pity sprang to my eyes as I stared at the macabre caricature of my face in the mirror. With shaky hands, I lifted the edge of the tee, answering a compulsive need to see the worst of the damage, and whimpered at the massive bruise that spread across most of my right side. No wonder it hurt like a mofo, I thought with a sob, letting the hem fall, it was a miracle they hadn't bashed my ribs in.

I guess you could call it a delayed reaction. I felt as though the grotesque creature in the mirror was mocking me, becoming more and more hideous as I looked on, unable to take my eyes away from it. "No!" I sobbed. "No!" my hands clawing at the mirror, trying to make it go away.

Just as I was starting to lose it, he was there, "Hey, hey, hey, don't, love," he said, taking my hands, turning me away from the mirror and holding me to him, "I know it looks shit, but it will be ok in a few days. It's just swelling and bruising, you are going to be ok."

"Bu-u-ut I look l-like a m-mo-onster." I sobbed into his chest. "No, you don't." he said firmly, "Look at me." I shook my head. "Come on, look at me." he said again, his voice warm and encouraging. I reluctantly did as he asked, and the way he was looking at me made the breath catch in my throat.

"No matter what, you will always be beautiful to me." he said, eyes intent on mine, willing me to believe him, "Do you hear me?" I nodded, lip quivering, as tears rolled down my cheeks, "Always." he repeated, kissing the tears away. "And now," he went on, letting go of me and reaching over to turn off the tap, "you get in and relax with your tea, and I'll go back and make your pancakes."

I didn't want him to go. I wanted... I didn't know what I wanted. Not exactly. I wanted him in ways that I didn't completely understand, my sexual experience being limited to the one-handed variety, and my experience of love being—well... none, really.

I wanted whatever lay in wait for us beyond the kissing. I wanted to know whether his body, which was almost as familiar to me as my own, would look different to me now. I desperately wanted to know what it would be like to have his eyes on my body, how his skin would feel against mine...

No, I didn't want him to go.

I held onto his hand, pulling him back, "No." He quirked his eyebrow at me, "No, as in you don't want pancakes?" he asked incredulously. I could feel the blush spreading across my face, but I forced myself to speak, looking up at him from under my lashes, "No, as in I don't want you to go."

He looked at me in confusion for a moment, and then his mouth formed into a silent 'Oh' as his eyes lit up in understanding. "Are you sure?" he asked, brushing a strand of hair away from my face to tuck it behind my ear. With a shaky breath, blushing fit to set the room on fire, I rested my forehead against his chest, and answered him, "Yes."

Kissing the top of my head, he said, "Ok. Bath for two coming right up." and my heart went spastic on me as he moved back a little and, without a shade of hesitation, pulled his tee over his head and stepped out of his PJs and boxers.

He just stood there, a soft smile on his face, letting me look at him, giving me time to see him. Yes, his body did look different to me. Or rather, I saw it differently. I no longer saw it as skin and muscle and bone, no different to the way I saw my own body. I now saw it as a wondrous new thing, to be discovered and experienced, to be loved and cherished.

My eyes caressed his skin, exploring him without shame, my breath a little bit ragged. I raised my hand to touch him, my fingers gliding lightly over the skin of his arm, and then, coming a step closer, I pressed my lips to his chest, nearly choking with the feeling of rightness that filled me. I sighed as he put his arms around me, tucking my head under his chin, and I thought that the previous evening's nightmare had been worth it, because it had led to this.

"Your turn." he said after a few heartbeats, a smile in his voice, and I had a moment's panic, thinking about him looking at my scrawny, battered body the way I'd looked at his. He knew, though, because he brought his lips to my ear, whispering, "Remember, you are beautiful."

I looked at him, and he smiled that incredible wide smile of his, making me feel beautiful just by the way he looked back at me. "Come on, arms up." he commanded softly and, once they were up, he peeled my tee off carefully over my head, the brush of his knuckles on my skin making me go weak at the knees.

I made to take my bottoms off, but his voice stopped me, "No. Let me?" I nodded, and his hands replaced mine at my waist, slipping between the elastic and my skin to flatten against my hips. His eyes never leaving mine, he knelt and, hooking his thumbs over the elastic, caressed his way over the curve of my arse and down my legs, pulling the clothes down as he went.

By the time he reached my calves, I was breathing as hard as if I'd run a marathon, and trying to ignore the stirrings in my cock. With a brisk, "Up." he tapped first one leg and then the other, so he could pull the bottoms over my feet, and then I was standing there naked, hardly daring to breathe as he sat on his heels and looked up at me, his hands loosely wrapped around my calves.

"You are beautiful." he said, running his hands back up my legs to the back of my thighs, and the way he looked at me, as if I were something precious, made something give inside me with an almost audible 'snap'. I knew what I wanted now.

I wanted him. I wanted his hands and his lips on every inch of my body. I wanted to know the texture and taste of his skin. I wanted to feel the weight of his body on mine. I wanted to explore every single possibility of our bodies together. I wanted to scream his name as I came, and whisper to him that I loved him as he held me afterwards.

Completely forgetting my innate shyness, I walked the two short steps that separated us until my toes were against his knees, running my fingers through his hair. With a heartstopping smile, he ran his hands along the back of my legs, and I watched breathlessly as he kissed his way slowly up my thighs, soft morning stubble rasping deliciously against sensitive skin in the wake of his lips.

Slowly, heavy-lidded, almost-black eyes on mine to check that I was ok with what he was doing, he licked along the seam between thigh and crotch, and my hands fisted in his hair as I moaned shamelessly and arched against him, while my cock stood up fully, demanding attention.

Chuckling darkly at my reaction, he brought his hands to mine to ease the death grip I had on his hair. "Ease off a bit, will you? I'd like to keep my hair where it is." he said, grinning up at me, and I giggled at the anticlimax, letting go of his hair as I muttered, "Vain sod."

His eyes flared. "You mouthy git! You seem to forget that I have you at my mercy, sir." he quipped with a wicked smirk and, before I had time to work out what he meant, he proceeded to run the flat of his tongue along the underside of my cock.

With a strangled cry, I dropped like a limp rag, my knees giving way completely as my body exploded with sensation, pleasure so intense that I thought my brain was going to melt. He managed to catch me before I hit the floor, and I cried again, this time in pain, as every battered muscle in my body protested.

"Oh, god, I'm sorry, are you ok?" he asked, his voice frantic with worry, and serve the evil sod right. I thought I'd let him stew for a bit out of spite, but he started rocking me gently and peppering my face with kisses, and I just didn't have the heart to carry it through. "I'm ok, you rat, no thanks to you." I mumbled into his chest.

He laughed in relief, giving me a little squeeze, "You little shit, you scared the life out of me. Again." I giggled and hugged him closer, relieved too, but for a totally different reason. I had been worried that we might lose the easy, and often twatty, way we had with one another to this wild tangle of emotion and sensation, and I was relieved that, despite this new turn we had taken, it was still there.

"Are you ok to get up?" he asked after a few moments, running his fingers through my hair, "for a skinny little fuck you really weigh a ton, and my knees are killing me." I nodded, "Yeah. Sorry." and disentangled myself from him to sit on the floor, "But you'll have to give me a hand getting up. I'm feeling a bit wobbly."

Getting up, he reached for my hands, pulling me up slowly until I was standing in the circle of his arms, and he looked at me in concern, "Wobbly how?" Wishing I had some control over my idiotic blushing, I ducked my head, "From, you know..." He laughed, and I squirmed, trying to get away from him in an agony of embarrassment, but he brought his hands to my face and, saying, "God, you're adorable." tilted my head up to kiss me briefly, smiling against my lips.

"Come on, into the bath with you." he said finally, letting go of me and taking my hand in his. He walked into the tub, sat down, and pulled me in to sit in front of him, cradled between his legs. With a sigh, I sank back against him, letting the warmth of the water and the comfort of his body wrapped around mine soothe me.

"I never asked," he said thoughtfully after a moment, "how did you get away?" I tensed for a couple of seconds, not wanting to go back, but his hands caressing up and down my arms reminded me that I was safe with him, and I answered, "An old biddy walking her dog came by and she starting laying into them with her walking stick, screeching at them to let the poor child go."

He giggled into my hair, and I thought about smacking him, but then I started giggling too, "You should have heard them squeal. They ran away and suddenly I had this dog slobbering all over me, and the old dear started fussing at me." I turned to look at him, water splashing everywhere, "She wanted to drive me to the hospital, but all I wanted was to be with you, so I told her I was going home, and came here to wait for you."

His eyes softening, he brought his lips down on mine, but I started giggling again mid-kiss. "What now?" he asked with a sigh. I just giggled and giggled, unable to stop while he held me up to stop me from drowning. Finally I was able to speak, "You kissed dog slobber." and was overtaken by another fit of giggles.

"I swear to god," he mock-growled at me, "you're the most annoying creature on the planet. If you weren't already mangled I'd give you the dunking of your life." but he spoilt the effect by sniggering halfway through the last bit. And by the way he kissed me after he was done, making my toes curl.

He finally let me go, muttering, "Brat!" and rearranged us so we were both up to our chins in the water, with me sitting across his lap, curled up in the crook of his arm, my head resting on his shoulder.

We sat there while the water cooled around us, just enjoying the quiet togetherness, his lips occasionally grazing my skin, my hands playing with the fingers of his free hand, and I could feel the knots in my muscles untangling, and the throbbing on my side easing.

When the bath got uncomfortably cold, he let the cold water run out, turning on the hot water for a refill, and reaching over to the vanity for a top up of the salts. By the time we had a full warm bath again, his lips started roaming my skin with intent, his left hand moving to my neck and then gliding slowly across my chest. When his fingers closed on my nipple, pinching slightly, it felt like an electric shock, and I bit my tongue in an effort to stop myself from screaming.

"Oh, my god, do that again?" I pleaded, panting, once I was able to speak again. "Like this?" he purred, moving his fingers to my other nipple, and chuckled as I nodded frantically, moaning and stretching into his hand like a cat.

"More." I whispered, reaching with my arm to bring his mouth to mine, and he slid his hand down slowly, teasingly, down my belly. "Tease!" I accused him against his lips, and he smiled, deepening the kiss at the same time that his hand finally reached its destination, his reward a long, low, heartfelt moan of ecstasy as it closed around my cock and started to pump me slowly.

His mouth slipped off mine, moving along my jaw to my ear, "You look beautiful right now." he whispered, starting to rock his hips in time with the movement of his hand, the hardness of his cock rubbing against my thigh. "And so hot." he went on, his breath hot on my skin, and I cried out as he brushed his palm over the head of my cock on the upsweep and started to speed up his strokes.

I clung to him, my mouth latching onto his neck in a frenzy of sucking and biting as the pleasure built up inside me, his whispered words in my ear and his hand corkscrewing on me urging me on, and on, until every aching muscle, every sinew, was straining, the heat and pressure building at the base of my spine until it finally exploded, and I was flying.

Bright lights dancing inside my closed eyelids, I cried his name and bit down on his shoulder as I spilled warmth on my belly. He wasn't far behind, his breathing harsh in my ear and his hand gripping my hip as he desperately bucked into me. I reached between us, fisting my hand on his cock, and that was all it took; with a strangled cry he found his release, curling into me, his mouth seeking mine until we fell back, spent, and the water settled back around us.

Unable to stay still for long, I sat in the middle of the tub and entertained myself playing with the slowly sinking globules of come while he recovered. Eventually his eyes opened. Not for long, though. He took a look at me and he closed them again, pinching the bridge of his nose and muttering something that sounded suspiciously like 'infantile twat'.

I crawled over to him, took his hand away from his face, and kissed his nose. "Great, you're awake. Can I have my pancakes now?"

* * * *

I can't help the giggle as I type the last bit, and I roll on my back across the foot of the bed, still giggling. I really was an infantile twat.

"What are you cackling about, you evil pixie? What's that you're writing?" he asks with a fond smile, looking at me over the top of his Mac's screen from where he's sitting, leaning against the headboard. I stop typing, "Nothing." I say, giving him an innocent look and casually locking the iPad's screen. Rolling his eyes at me, he puts his hand out, "Give here, let me see." I shake my head, hiding the iPad behind my back, and he snorts, "Yeah, like that's going to stop me."

Putting the Mac carefully on the bedside table, he crawls across the bed and leaps on me, hands clawed to tickle my sides. Giggling hysterically, I try to fend him off, but he knows, and I know, that I'm a total pushover when I'm tickled. "Fine," I give up between giggles, handing it over, "here, it's locked anyway." He gives me one if his 'bitch, please!' looks and, shaking his head, enters the code, "You dork, you've had the same password for the last fifteen years."

Oh, bugger.

Resigned to my fate, I bite my lip in mortification, watching him as the screen comes to life and he starts to read, expecting him to take the piss and call me a sentimental fool. Instead, he gives me a wide-eyed look and then, smiling softly, pulls me to him, saying, "God, I love you!" and kisses me to within an inch of my life.

Once I am breathing again, I ask, uncertainly, "I'm not complaining, yeah? But what was that for?" Without a word, he passes me the Mac, and my eyes fill with tears as I start reading.

_We normally walked back to my place together after school, but today I'd had a football game scheduled after class, and for once he'd decided to pass on watching and go for a walk down to the pier instead, saying he'd catch up with me after the game..._

 

 


End file.
